


For the Best

by writerspassion18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 16:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14382651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerspassion18/pseuds/writerspassion18
Summary: Hermione and Narcissa have done all they could to help Draco and his sanity. There's only one option left, and Hermione would rather die than take it.





	For the Best

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [TheSlytherinCabal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSlytherinCabal/pseuds/TheSlytherinCabal) in the [DBQ2018Round1](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DBQ2018Round1) collection. 



What's the worse pain that a person can feel? A nick on the finger by a piece of parchment? Bruised and banged up knees when you fall? A knife to the sternum? The Cruciatus Curse? Watching your loved one fall prey to insanity?

No.

It was being the reason  _why_ your loved one was the prime candidate for the Janis Thickey Ward.

The War hadn't been good to Draco. It hadn't been good to anyone really. Harry became a recluse shortly after it was over. Too many reporters. Too many cameras. The only peace that he received had been indoors. It was only recently that Ginny managed to get him out more, but only for short periods of time. Ron and much of the Weasleys took Fred's death hard. Just last year after three years of begging Ron finally gave in to helping George run the joke shop. Hermione herself had a strong aversion to knives, blood, and curly hair. Five years later and she still only cut food items with her wand. She even made an effort to keep her hair straight, light waves at best. She would never forget the utter panic she had fallen into when one of her curls dropped into her line of sight. Images of Bellatrix had flooded her mind and it just… It hadn't been a good day.

Draco, however, her friend, her husband… He had it worse than anyone. Voldemort had lived in his home. He had tortured people there. He had  _killed_ people there. Draco had witnessed it all. As a boy it had tormented him, and now as a man it plagued him. A one-year stint in Azkaban had pushed his discomfort at the terrors of his childhood and turned them into boggarts. While in a drunken stupor Draco had told Hermione what the Dementors made him see. Dead bodies. Gruesome ones with missing limbs and blood pooling around their corpses. Those same lifeless forms defied the laws of nature and spoke to him. Accused him, more accurately, of being a coward and not doing anything to help save them. He had also heard voices. Alternating between his father, his aunt Bellatrix, and Voldemort, they all took turns telling him that he had to do his part and to not be a disappointment.

Hermione had been a Healer in training by the time Draco had been released, and he had ended up as her patient after being found babbling to himself and wandering the streets late at night. They had been attached to each other ever since. Hermione to him because she lived to see him well, and Draco to her because she kept him from falling apart. It took five months in the Janis Thickey Ward for Draco to become lucid. It took another two months and Hermione's prodding to convince the overseers of the ward that he could leave the hospital. He still had constant contact with his primary Healer and Hermione provided him care that only a non-professional could provide.

Two years ago Draco proposed and that same year they got married. Life had been good. Fantastic, really. They were married. They had a house of their own. They talked about having children as soon as possible. And, most importantly, Draco had been well. Sadly, all of their good fortune came to an abrupt halt last year when he faced his demons head on at Malfoy Manor. Hermione had pleaded with him, urging him not to go to the Manor. He hadn’t been back there since his admittance to St. Mungo’s and she feared a relapse. Draco, however, ignored her pleas. It was less an act of defiance, but more wanting to prove to himself that he was truly better. That his past was just his past and that it didn’t affect him anymore. His mother, Narcissa, did little to persuade him otherwise and welcomed him home.

That day Hermione had trailed behind her husband, keeping her eyes out for any signs of distress.

There hadn’t been.

Draco had walked through the foyer of Malfoy Manor and let his gaze land upon every inch. The floor. The paintings. The walls. The staircases. While Hermione was a wreck, wringing her hands together until they were raw, Narcissa was optimistic and enthused at Draco’s ability to walk through the former horror show. He had even managed to make it through “the room.” The room where his now wife had been tortured and nearly killed.

Everything had been normal for approximately one week. That was when the nightmares began. And then the voices. Then the images. Draco had relapsed into his insanity and had increasingly become a danger to himself and others. What made it worse and shattered Hermione’s heart was that  _she_ was his trigger. Seeing her sent him right back to the parlor room where she had been subject to his aunt’s torture and Hermione watched, helplessly, as Draco relived every moment of that night. He often screamed when those episodes struck him. Sometimes he cried for “Granger” to be let go. Other times, and more often than not, he begged for his “wife” to be let go. “Broken” wasn’t strong enough of a word to describe how Hermione felt when he cried for his wife’s safety. It meant that her Draco was in there, somewhere, but she just didn’t know how to release him. No Healer did, apparently.

“You need to rest.”

Hermione blinked the sleepiness from her eyes as she raised her head from the side of Draco’s bed. A third blink cleared her vision completely and she spotted the time on the muggle clock that sat on a night table.

_2:00 am_

“I’m fine,” Hermione replied. She looked up and to her left to find her mother-in-law standing beside her. Narcissa frowned.

“You have been in here since he fell asleep without taking a rest for yourself.”

“And I’ll sleep when he wakes. This is the only time that I can see him without him...panicking.”

Narcissa frowned even further, but there was no denying what she said. Draco’s symptoms worsened terribly in his wife’s presence and Hermione only saw him when he was sleeping to make it easier for him. Easier for him,  _much_  harder for her.

“Very well,” Narcissa nodded and she slowly backed out of the room. She would give Hermione this night, but tomorrow, they had matters to attend to.

* * *

Narcissa had her personal house elves prepare an elaborate meal for breakfast. When she had first moved into her son and daughter-in-law’s home, Hermione fought tooth and nail about her use of house elves. It resulted in Hermione doing everything herself (meal preparations, cleaning, laundry, etc.). But seeing as how the young Mrs. Malfoy spent her nights watching her husband sleep and her days catching up on sleep herself, that left Narcissa to run the home however she saw fit it wasn’t going to fall into shambles.

Narcissa had delicately bit into a piece of toast when her ears picked up on movement to her left and she was surprised to find Hermione in the doorway. Dark circles were under her eyes. Her eyes themselves were red. Her hair was a nest worse than usual and she hadn't changed clothes from the night.

“You haven't slept,” Narcissa stated. Hermione swallowed before walking into the room and taking the seat to her mother-in-law's left.

“I just left Draco's room. I figured I'd eat and then sleep.”

“Did he see you?”

Hermione was silent. Narcissa watched her reach for the serving spoon, but she stopped the young witch's movements with a hand on her wrist. Hermione snapped her eyes to hers.

“I asked if he saw you,” Narcissa repeated.

Tight lips and a clenched jaw, Hermione wrenched her hand away and went back to feeding herself.

“Briefly,” she admitted. The despair on the older woman's face matched her own, but Hermione quickly added, “I called for Izzy and she stuffed the strongest sleeping potion we had down his throat.”

Despite the image of her son being force-fed being an undesirable one, it settled Narcissa. She sat quietly for a moment, allowing her daughter-in-law a moment's peace to eat. The woman barely ate anymore and it showed. Sadly, after she proposed her plan, it was doubtful if the brunette would ever eat again.

“I have a solution to Draco's madness.”

Hermione's fork clattered to her plate. She turned her gaze to Narcissa, her breathing shallow, but rapid. “Healers can't help him.”

“My solution doesn't require a Healer. All it needs is a wand.”

Hermione's brows furrowed and her mass of hair smacked her face as she shook her head. “No solution could be that simple. I would've figured something out in the case. What are you proposing?”

Narcissa took a deep breath and neatly interlaced her fingers, her elbows defying all etiquette and resting on the table.

“You are my son's trigger,” Narcissa answered plainly. “It only seems right that to get rid of you would ease his suffering.”

An awful screech assaulted Narcissa's ears when Hermione pushed back her chair and awkwardly rose out of her seat.

“ _I beg your pardon?_ ”

Narcissa smiled. She chuckled even. “I don't mean by harming you, dear. I'm going to erase his memory of you.”

“You…  _You what?_ ” Hermione stuttered. However, she had heard exactly what had been said. Replaying those words in her mind had sent a mind-numbing ache through her already weak body. In her brief moment of weakness she paused and said boldly, “You can't do that.”

“I wasn't asking for your permission,” Narcissa said curtly. “This was merely for your information.”

Narcissa had risen from her seat just the same and her wand had been pulled from somewhere within her robes. Within a blink she had disapparated, leaving Hermione enraged, confused, scared, and then, quite suddenly, on high alert. Hermione attempted to disapparate, but found herself incapable. She tried a second time before giving up and running. She fled the dining room, tripping up the stairs, and using the railing to push herself forward. She made it to Draco's bedroom, her wand in her hand and aiming it.

“Bombarda!”

Hermione heard two shouts but she only cared about one of them. She felt extremely apologetic for exploding a door in full view of a trauma victim, but she didn't give a rat's arse about Narcissa who had apparently dropped to the floor from the blast.

Hermione ignored the terrified expression of her husband as he set his eyes on her. She needed to take him from here. It didn't matter where. Just somewhere far from his mother. She quickly disabled the anti-apparation wards and reached for Draco's hand, but felt a rough tug on the back of her shirt that threw her to the ground. Narcissa was on her feet now, her wand pointed at her son who had been watching the exchange in horror.

“I'm sorry,” she said softly. “ _Obliviate!_ ”

She heard Hermione yell in the background as the spell left her lips, but Narcissa stared wide-eyed and lost her concentration when her daughter-in-law threw herself onto Draco. Narcissa's spell hit them both and the woman dropped her wand immediately after.

The room was quiet. Narcissa's hand shook terribly as she took a tentative step towards the bed. Both her son and Hermione had a dazed look in their eyes. She called out to them both, but neither of them made a sound.

“Izzy.”

Izzy the house elf appeared at her side and looked up at her Mistress. “Yes, Mistress Malfoy.”

“Take Hermione to her bedroom.”

“Yes, Mistress Malfoy.”

Izzy walked over to Hermione who was still half laying on top of Draco. She had her hand on Hermione’s but the house elf didn’t apparate for Narcissa had quickly stopped her.

“Is there something wrong, Mistress Malfoy?”

“Additional orders,” Narcissa replied swiftly. She took two short strides towards the bed and stretched out her hand to Hermione’s. It took a bit of twisting and pulling, but the brunette’s wedding ring was in the older Malfoy’s grasp by the end of the struggle. “You may take her now. Be sure to remove any photograph containing her. That includes those with Draco, her friends, and her family.”

Izzy was sorrowful at the request, but orders were orders and she had no choice but to comply. She and Hermione were gone within seconds. So was Draco’s wedding ring, also joining Hermione’s in Narcissa’s hand.

* * *

White light was the worst thing to wake up to. It was too bright. Hermione put her hands over her eyes to block it out and blinked several times to get herself adjusted. When they finally were she let her hands fall to her sides. That’s when she realized that she was tucked in bed in a modestly, yet lavishly designed room. It was twice the size one would consider to be a normal bedroom. There were two ornate dressers, an armoire, three large windows covered by sheer curtains, a door that appeared to lead to a master bathroom in one corner of the room, and a very poised woman sitting in the opposite corner.

“Who are you?”

Narcissa quirked a brow. Draco, when he had woken, had known who she was. He had known who  _he_  was, thank Merlin. When she had subtly asked questions about a bushy-haired brunette, he had been confused and hadn’t a clue who she was. For Hermione, however, the damage appeared to be a bit more extensive.

“Do you know what your name is?”

Hermione tilted her head slightly as she stared at Narcissa and adjusted her position in bed to sit upright. “It’s… I… I can’t remember.”

_Yes, quite extensive,_  Narcissa mused to herself. She rose from her seat and neared Hermione’s bedside.

“Your name is Elizabeth,” Narcissa lied through her teeth. “You are my niece and unfortunately you had a small accident while visiting us.”

“Us?” Hermione questioned.

“Me and my son. Your cousin, Draco. The both of you love to argue and show off. A dueling mishap rattled the both of you.”

“Must’ve been some duel,” Hermione chuckled, a hand on her forehead to ward off a brewing headache. “Is... Draco, was it? Is he okay?”

Narcissa’s lips curled up into a soft smile as she replied gently, “Yes, he is. We will be eating dinner shortly, if you are up for it.”

Hermione anxiously twiddled her thumbs for a moment before taking a deep breath and nodding. Narcissa smiled, encouraging her, and helping her out of bed. They left the bedroom and purposefully wandered through a very spacious house. Hermione stared at it in awe, determining for herself that they weren’t in a house at all. It wasn’t a mansion either. It resembled a beach house. No, not resembled. It  _was_  a beach house. An open and airy concept, the walls of this home was nothing but glass. Vaulted ceilings and a cool feel, as they descended the stairs Hermione couldn’t help but let her mouth drop when she saw the massive pool outfront.

Memory gone or not, Narcissa was sure that Hermione would have had the same reaction regardless. She had yet to visit the Malfoy summer home, and that is where the matriarch had hastily taken her and Draco to. She knew that she couldn’t keep them here forever, but for the interim, it would have to do.

“Elizabeth,” Draco’s voice greeted once the pair had made it to the dining area. It was situated in front of two massive double doors (glass, of course) with a view of the beach.

Narcissa watched and waited with baited breath at the interaction. What would she do if their memories of each other suddenly clicked? How would she handle it? How would she explain herself?

“Draco,” Hermione returned the greeting. She crossed her arms as she looked him up and down before huffing. “I suppose I should thank you. Whatever spell or curse you hit me with really did a number on me.”

“Signs of a good duel, whatever the reason we were in one in the first place,” Draco smirked. “Let’s eat already.”

Narcissa internally sighed, smiled outwardly, and sat at the head of the table. Small talk was every definition of “small” and she didn’t mind it. Every time either one of them opened their mouth she was struck with a fear that her temporary fix would derail horribly. However, nothing did. They ate in peace. Questions were asked that Narcissa either dodged expertly or lied beautifully. When dinner was over, Hermione got up and offered to gather everyone’s dishes. Narcissa had laughed gently, telling her that she didn’t have to. Draco smartly pointed out that that was what house elves were for. Hermione simply ignored them both and went on with her task. It was as she did this that Narcissa froze. Had her eyes deceived her? Did she witness Hermione  _brushing her hand_  over Draco’s arm? If Draco had noticed or found it odd, he hadn’t let on.

Narcissa removed herself from the table and went into the kitchen after Hermione. She was putting everything into the sink, preparing to wash the silverware herself. Narcissa eyed a glass that was still on the counter and slipped her wand out. With a spell it inched the glass at the very edge of the counter to point of falling.

“Hermione, darling, watch the glass.”

Hermione reacted out of pure instinct, reaching for the falling glass,  _and_  because of the use of her name. “Thanks,” had been an automatic reply, and she stiffened when she realized her mistake. She closed her eyes briefly before taking a deep breath and turning to her mother-in-law.

“Sneaky and manipulative,” Hermione accused, her fingers menacingly drumming on the counter. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Draco needed a reason as to who you were,” Narcissa said simply, her nose upturned in the air. “And your memory was  _supposed_  to be gone.”

“Well, it’s not. I’ll play up the role you gave me, but I’m going to make Draco remember me.”

“And you’ll risk his mental health in the process,” Narcissa hissed. “That is why I did what I have.”

“You had no business to do that!”

“I’m his mother.”

“And I’m his  _wife!_ ”

Narcissa was seething. She and Hermione stood no more than a foot apart and it unnerved her how this woman couldn’t see that this was for the best. Draco was finally coherent for the first time in nearly a year and she wanted to get rid of that?

“Draco  _will_ remember me.”

“You'll do no such thing,” Narcissa found herself saying. “I forbid it.”

“Well, luckily for me, I wasn't asking for your permission,” Hermione sneered. Then her lips morphed into a malicious grin. “It was just for your information.”

Hermione brushed past Narcissa and made her way towards the kitchen door. She paused in the doorway, calling over her shoulder, “Are you coming Aunt Cissa?”

With her insides ablaze, Narcissa bit down on her tongue and followed. That woman was going to ruin everything.


End file.
